


Little Lark

by ForestSeaWitch



Series: The Monster You Know [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Betrayal, Body Shaming, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Forced Nudity, Gen, Kidnapping, Mind fucking, Panic, Plot Twist, Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning, Torture, dark dreams, dicks out for harambe - Freeform, except i did so idk, extreme fucking violence but we're not even close yet, forced penetration, how can she slap, i can't make this shit up, it's Ramsay fucking Bolton for christ's sake, it's fucking rough ok, no seriously this shit is dark, non sexual object, this is your last fucking warning ok, we do not beta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23077057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForestSeaWitch/pseuds/ForestSeaWitch
Summary: Jaskier wakes to find that his recurring nightmare has become his waking reality.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion & Ramsay Bolton, Jaskier | Dandelion & Theon Greyjoy
Series: The Monster You Know [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642081
Comments: 23
Kudos: 60





	1. Jaskier I

_”I love you too, bard.”_ Jaskier saw Geralt in a thick fog, and it felt as though he was dropping out of sight. No, Jaskier was the one dropping. He was sinking, drowning in smoke and darkness, and Geralt was so far away. It was only the golden orbs that glowed in the fog, until even those were mere specks that had disappeared like stars to the dawn. Jaskier cried out for the witcher, but his mouth refused to allow the noise out. Why couldn’t he scream? Jaskier tried to reach out and fight his way through the fog, but his hands couldn’t move, either. 

**”Wake up,”** a sharp, cruel voice shot at him, accompanied by a nasty slap to the side of his head. Jaskier was instantly awake and alert. Yes, he was still bound and gagged in the back of this cart. Ramsay had not been pleased when Jaskier initially tried to shimmy his way out and onto the road, so he’d lashed the bard to his seat. There was no way to move.

 **”You were whimpering. Like a woman. Suppose you might as well be one, if you’re letting that Targaryen run you through.”** As much as Ramsay terrified him, Jaskier grew red in anger at the insult to Geralt. Jaskier tried to tell his brother that, firstly, Geralt was not a Targaryen. And secondly, they had yet to even do such an act. Jaskier instantly regretted the attempt as Ramsay jumped into the cart with him. The Bastard grabbed his jaw and stared him down, their noses practically touching. Those eyes were still as cold and uncaring as he remembered them. Filled with malice and a silent dare. Ramsay always looked as though he were about to goad someone into doing something that he could torment them for.

 **”Are you trying to speak back to me, Jeymes?”** That was _not_ his name, but Jaskier couldn’t react. He broke eye contact, looking down with a soft shake of his head. He whimpered when Ramsay squoze his jaw harder, yanking it upwards to make him meet his gaze again. **”Still the same. Pathetic, deviant, fat, _weak_. I should have let my dogs rip you apart. These fancy clothes, whatever life you thought you had…they can’t hide what you really are.”** Jaskier felt the tears stinging his eyes, and he hardly felt like an Oxenfurt graduate, famed song writer, and travel companion to the greatest witcher ever known. He hardly even felt like Jeymes Bolton right now. He’d gone straight back to Reek, and dreaded to think what was waiting for him back at the Dreadfort. 

**”Must have been easier to bring you here than I thought it’d be,”** Ramsay dismissively spat, shoving Jaskier’s face away. He got up into the driving seat, snapping the reigns for his horses to go. Jaskier liked very little of what Ramsay ever said to him, and that last sentence the least of all. He glanced up at the man, seeing a slight sneer spread across his smug face.

 **”Oh he must have fed you quite the story, Jeymes. See, I needed you back here. Paid handsomely. Do you know how hard it is to find someone who tried to disappear?”** Jaskier was frozen, and horrified. No, he refused to believe this. Geralt hadn’t known, and he’d been so very kind and good and…different. He wouldn’t have sold Jaskier like this. He just _wouldn’t_. The bard’s breathing had grown shallow again, and he was shaking his head without realizing it. Ramsay laughed cruelly when he looked down.

 **”Did you think he brought you all this way for no good reason?”** Jaskier could feel hot tears rolling down his cheeks again. He pulled hard at the bindings around his wrists, but knew that was both stupid and useless. **”If you don’t stop that, Jeymes, I’m going to have to take a hand.”** Ramsay said it so coolly and casually that Jaskier didn’t quite process what he’d said at first. The bard grew completely still, though his eyes blinked rapidly as he tried to clear the tears from them. They refused to stop.

 **”Better.”** What worried Jaskier the most was how Ramsay had barely touched him. He’d been slapped around, pushed, kidnapped, even threatened with a knife to his throat, but it was all tame, compared to what he remembered his half-brother doing. He didn’t dare let himself fall asleep again, not when the risk was too great. Jaskier felt himself slipping away as he stared at nothing in particular. No one would question why a northern lord had a prisoner in his cart. Eddard Stark had even escorted recruits to the Wall himself, from time to time. Or at least Jaskier thought he had. It was highly likely that for all the time he’d been away, his memories had become a bit jumbled and inaccurate.

He stared blankly at the side of the cart, his body jostling with whatever rocks and holes the wheels ran over. What if Ramsay wasn’t lying? What if he’d found where Jaskier was, and paid the witcher to have him returned? No, no, Geralt would absolutely _never_ do that. He’d just last night told the bard he loved him, and was taking him…home. Jaskier inhaled sharply as the memory of that hit him like a dull blade to the gut. What if that was what Geralt had meant, taking him home? He shook his head again, trying to blink the tears away. He wouldn’t believe it. He refused.  


  


* * *

  


  
**”If you dare scream, I will rip that tongue right out of your head.”** Jaskier had been startled again when the cart stopped, pulling off into the woods. Ramsay had begun to dig around in his pack for something, producing some strips of dried fruit. He’d reached for Jaskier, making the bard cringe back and whimper. Gods, he really _was_ pathetic, wasn’t he? And then came the warning, which Jaskier believed beyond a shadow of a doubt. His jaw quivered and he nodded, shakily. 

Ramsay pulled the gag from his mouth, and then pressed the fruit to his lips. Jaskier had no idea what he was meant to do here. Was Ramsay…feeding him? When he didn’t immediately react, the bastard caught his jaw in one hand, forcing the food into his mouth and then pushing his jaw to make it chew. **”As much as I absolutely despise you, the Dreadfort needs a lord.”** Jaskier found himself more confused than ever, but rather than risk angering Ramsay further, he began to eat the food he was given.

 **”Once father was poisoned by our enemies-”** Jaskier had to resist a dismissive snort at that, **”Winterfell passed to me.”**

 **”Winterfell?”** He didn’t understand.

Ramsay sighed, rolling his eyes. **”Don't interrupt. Yes, Winterfell. Lord Stark was executed for treason against the crown-”**

 **”He _what_?!”** Ramsay slapped him hard for disobeying his previous order. 

**”You’ve missed a lot, Jeymes. Currently…ah yes, King Tommen Baratheon sits on the Iron Throne. But there was a large war, many kings, all very boring. But Winterfell passed to our father, who married me to the late Lord Stark’s youngest daughter, Arya. And now that he is gone…Winterfell is mine.”** Jaskier did not like the sound of that at all. Not one bit. Ramsay should never have been the lord of anything, let alone the largest house of the North. He almost asked what that had to do with him, but the sting still present on his cheek made him think twice.

 **”And now the Dreadfort is without a Lord. And so…you are needed. As Roose Bolton’s only other living son. Gods only know how _you_ survived for so long in a foreign land.”** That was the last thing Jaskier ever wanted, even as a boy. Even before Ramsay had begun to torment him. He didn’t want the title, the responsibility, the risk that came with being Lord Bolton. Jaskier swallowed the food in his mouth, and found more being pushed at him. This time he ate it without hesitation, yet still felt no better for any of this. Why couldn’t Geralt have come with him? Did Geralt even know who had taken him, or would he assume, given the circumstances, that a rival house had kidnapped him? Oh gods, what if he was going off in the wrong direction now?

 **”I don’t like the idea any more than you do, Jeymes. But I need you alive. And…decent. Or I would have had your throat slit the moment you returned to Westeros. So…here we are.”** Ramsay sneered at him, and replaced the gag when he seemed satisfied with how much Jaskier had eaten. 

**”Gods you look like such a pillow biter. Do you need to piss?”** Jaskier did, but his eyes grew wide at the idea of Ramsay being anywhere near…that. He shook his head quickly. Too quickly, apparently. **”You do. Don’t _lie_ to me, Jeymes,”** Ramsay grabbed a pot and set it between Jaskier’s legs. 

**”I am going to untie one of your hands. Don’t you dare try one fucking thing. Just because I need you alive, it doesn’t mean I need you in one piece. But I won’t have you stinking of piss this close to me.”** Jaskier nodded in compliance. There was a knife in his waistband, one that Geralt had given him for protection. A small one. Had Ramsay found it, or was it still there? 

He slowly rotated the freed hand, grunting through the gag. Jaskier eyed Ramsay briefly, wondering how he could manage any sort of escape. The knife was only small enough to cut and annoy, for him to make an escape. But he was tied in place otherwise, and that would be stupid. Jaskier could save that for later, when he was untied and at the Dreadfort, then. He couldn’t look Ramsay in the face as he fumbled with his trousers, fetching his cock and finally managing to piss through his nerves. He hated Ramsay with every fiber of his being, but he couldn’t do a damn thing like this. So Jaskier would obey, for now. For the sake of his own self-preservation.  


  


* * *

  


  
They didn’t stop again until well after sundown, when the horses were growing exhausted. Ramsay had whipped them until they bleated helplessly. **”Fine! You damn useless things. Jeymes, we’re here for the night.”** Jaskier had barely been able to rest. His mind had been whirring and thinking and worrying. Had Geralt just accepted that he was gone, and continued on with everything? He knew the witcher had extra senses, and abilities, and when he hunted it was like he was inside the animal’s mind when he tracked it. But Jaskier didn’t know if he could follow them. If he even _would_ follow them.

 **”I’m leaving you in the cart. But I’ll put a blanket on you. You’re no good to me if you die of the cold out here.”** The disgust dripping from Ramsay’s voice was palpable, and it made Jaskier feel as though he was a burden for having existed at all. Maybe that’s why Geralt had been so keen to be rid of him, then. No. No, he couldn’t let Ramsay’s words poison his mind like that. Even if they did make far too much sense, and the little part of him that still belonged to this hell of a country tried to whisper that it was for the best. That he truly was a burden, to everyone around him. Even the man he loved.

Jaskier was crying, silently, by the time Ramsay forced more food into him, and covered him with a direwolf fur. Freezing to death was a far better fate, but a larger part of him still held out hope for Geralt to come rushing out of the darkness, slaying Ramsay, and immediately whisking him away back home. His brother was, naturally, delighted to see him so emotionally distraught, and was in high spirits himself. At least one of them was enjoying this trip, but Jaskier would have much rather Ramsay fling himself from the nearest cliff. Ideally onto a bed of rocks that did not kill him immediately.

 **”One of my men will be meeting us on the morrow. Then we won’t have a need for these ridiculous stops, or sleep.”** Jaskier wondered what that meant for the horses, but did not breathe a word to that. He was far more clever than he was often given credit for, and he would give Ramsay none of his brilliant ideas. This apparently satisfied the bastard, his silence, and Ramsay left him exactly as he promised. The quiet of the night was hardly comforting, though. 

Even though he was always the one filling the nights with noise, Jaskier found himself missing the witcher’s occasional grunts, chuckles, and even his rare sentence. When he hoped Ramsay was far enough from him, Jaskier allowed the whimpers that accompanied his tears to rip from him. Gods, he wanted to just sob and lose himself to emotion. He was helpless, no matter what Ramsay claimed for his reason in being here. Jaskier’s memories flashed through his mind, all at once, and his chest grew tight as his breaths grew too fast for his body to keep up with. Ramsay was a liar, and an awful person, and he must find a way to escape this before it was too late.

Jaskier supposed he must have panicked himself into passing out, because the next thing he realized, it was light and morning again. Ramsay was still asleep, thank the gods, but the sun had touched his cheek. It ached as though it had just dried, for the salted tears that coated it hours ago. His reprieve was short-lived, however. Ramsay stirred and hastily packed his haphazard camp. Jaskier did not even look at him, keeping his eyes cast down as the man tried to goad a reaction out of him with his taunting. The bard didn’t hear it, and supposed that must have been a blessing, in some way. At least he could block out the things he didn’t care to hear, which Jaskier now realized was part of the reason he’d ended up in this mess in the first place. The cart lurched forward, and the sane part of Jaskier feared for what the next few days would bring.


	2. Jaskier II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier finally arrives to Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not fucking around with these tags, fair warning.

The bard had barely slept, and while he wasn’t starving, he knew that Ramsay was feeding him less than what he should have been eating. Jaskier was too scared to make any mention of it, or to say that he was still hungry when Ramsay asked. He knew that trick far too well, and would not let himself get caught up in the same old games. Not this time. No matter how genial Ramsay seemed to be with him. Jaskier had been unbound from the seat on the second day, though a shackle was left about his ankle, keeping him in place. It was far more comfortable, though, but Jaskier was constantly on edge. He kept waiting for the other boot to drop, for Ramsay to turn it on him. Especially when one of his Bastard Boys met up with them on the road.

**”Will you relax, Jeymes? Get some damned sleep before we get there, will you.”** Jaskier had been forcing himself to stay awake, still convinced that Ramsay was waiting for him to get too comfortable, too at ease, and that was when he’d strike. The few times he had fallen asleep, it was broken and tormented, with mixed memories of his childhood and Geralt. They were beginning to blend into one another, and every time Jaskier awoke sweaty and panicked, wildly searching for the witcher. He was nowhere to be found, of course. Every time a horse approached their cart a little too quickly, Jaskier’s heart jumped, hoping it was him. But it was never him, and as they lurched forth on the third day, he was beginning to worry that Geralt might never find him. 

They had stopped only to buy fresh horses, like Ramsay had said they would, cutting a whole day from their travel. Jaskier’s fingers itched constantly for the familiarity of his lute, its strings, although he hardly felt like a songbird right now. But he needed something to ground him in the middle of this nightmare. Ramsay was largely ignoring him, now that his friend was with them, but Jaskier was still on edge in constant wait. By midday on their fourth day of travel, he had grown so exhausted that he passed out where he sat, unconscious for the hours leading up to their final destination. Ramsay left him alone in the cart, and Jaskier didn’t even realize it until the chill of northern air woke him up.

The bard sat up, shivering and groggy. He looked around with a confused expression, holding himself in an attempt to warm up. **”This…this isn’t the Dreadfort,”** he noted aloud. Jaskier looked down, seeing he was still shackled to the cart. Fuck. No one was coming to his aid, to cover and warm up the supposed new Lord Bolton. 

**”It’s Winterfell, Jeymes.”** Ramsay appeared, throwing a fur cloak at him. **”I’ll be staying here, and sending you on tomorrow.”** He sneered when he unlatched the shackle around Jaskier’s ankle. **”You smell terrible. I can’t let people know you’re my brother when you’re dressed like…that.”**

Jaskier pulled the cloak around his shoulders, grateful for the warmth it immediately provided. Even Ramsay’s biting remarks were landing softly, though perhaps that was due to the sleep deprivation. Why hadn’t Geralt followed them? Searched for him. Something. Where was his White Wolf? Jaskier was beginning to wonder if Ramsay had been speaking truly, and that thought burned a hollow hole in his stomach. His half-brother pulled him from the cart, and Jaskier fell, his legs folding beneath him like silk. 

**”Get. Up.”** Ramsay’s tone was colder than the northern air, and Jaskier kept his eyes averted as he pushed to his feet. The shorter man led him up into the fortress, and Jaskier wondered if their height had always been so different. Had he been especially small as a young boy, or had he just never realized that Ramsay wasn’t actually bigger than him? He could hardly remember, and he knew his memories were not useful in this. 

**” _REEK_!”** Ramsay shouted as they entered Winterfell’s inner court, and Jaskier froze in place, his body beginning to shake. Here it was, this was what he’d been fearing. The smallest of whimpers escaped his throat, but then he caught sight of the hunched old man, shuffling over towards them anxiously. **”There you are, Reek. Go wake my lady. She’s to meet my brother. This is Jeymes. Say hello to Jeymes, Reek.”** So Ramsay was still the same as he’d always been, Jaskier found. But he had a new toy to torture and berate, and that was why he hadn’t bothered much now.

Reek looked at Jaskier for only a moment, and then nodded. He scurried away, and Jaskier felt a deep guilt in his gut. Because he’d been relieved that there even _was_ a Reek. **”That was once Theon Greyjoy,”** Ramsay gleefully informed him. 

**”What? How? He…he looks so old.”** Jaskier’s voice was cracked and his throat dry, but he knew that Theon was similar in age to them. The man who was now Reek looked old and haggard. But Jaskier understood why; life under Ramsay’s rule could age someone as their body tried to kill itself. Even the very fiber of a person’s being could sense that it was a hopeless situation. 

**”Nevermind that. Come. Lady Stark will be awake soon.”** Jaskier remembered the Starks. What were their names again…it had been so long, he couldn’t recall. But he knew there had been two daughters, at least. He pitied whichever one had been married off to Ramsay Snow. No, Ramsay _Bolton_ he was now. No longer a bastard in title. 

Ramsay led him up into the private quarters, and Jaskier couldn’t help but wonder what was behind each closed door. Of course the largest and grandest of those doors was where he’d been led, with Reek…no, Theon. Jaskier would call him Theon when Ramsay wasn’t near, because he deserved the respect of his own damn name. Theon stood outside the door, his hands curled in towards himself and eyes cast down. 

**”Lady Arya, I have someone for you to meet,”** Ramsay announced as he walked through the door. Ah, right. Arya. Jaskier vaguely remembered her, for being a spiteful little creature who chased after the boys. Not because she thought them comely, but because she wanted to play like they did. The woman who hesitantly stood and curtsied now had none of that fire in her, and clearly feared her lord husband. Jaskier could have cried, for now seeing how Ramsay ruined two others in his time. 

**”Well? Introduce yourself,”** Ramsay hissed at him, making Jaskier jump.

**”I’m Jask-”** a slap hit his cheek, and Jaskier felt tears threatening to spill over. 

**”That’s _not_ your name,”** Ramsay’s voice was full of venom, and Jaskier straightened, his jaw tight.

**”Jeymes Bolton. It’s nice to see you again, Lady Arya.”** The woman nodded in a quick and small gesture, clutching her own cloak tightly around her. She looked at Ramsay, as though she feared…something. Him, or what he might do. Jaskier knew the look of relief that washed over her mousy, plain face as Ramsay turned to leave the room. He mouthed _I’m sorry_ at her before turning to follow. Jaskier still didn’t know what game Ramsay was playing, but what if he’d been telling the truth this whole time? After killing their father, he likely had no idea how to handle two holds at once, and did need someone for the Dreadfort.

**”I’ve had a room set for you,”** Ramsay casually informed, leading Jaskier down to the opposite side of the halls. Jaskier peeked in on one of the open doors, and saw a plain room with a dying fire. They passed a window, and snow had begun to fall outside once again. He was caught in watching the beauty of it while Ramsay opened the last door to the right. Geralt should have seen this. It was beautiful and quiet.

**”Jeymes,”** the bastard snarled impatiently.

**”Right, yes.”** He _was_ exhausted, and he needed sleep. Jaskier could rest in a bed, and maybe have a meal. As he stepped to the doorway, he froze, staring inside. His stomach dropped. There was no bed, but a torturer’s cross, sat in the middle of the room. **”No…no…Geralt…w-where’s Geralt,”** Jaskier whimpered, taking a step backwards. He was shoved roughly, falling again. Ramsay ripped the cloak from him and stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. He locked it and pocketed the key.

**”Did you really think I was going to give my home to a little fucking weakling like you?”** Ramsay sneered, kicking him. Jaskier whimpered and scrambled to try and crawl away, but got a boot to the face instead. He spat blood, gasping at the sudden pain. **”Your _Geralt_ is long gone. You’re never seeing him again.”** This couldn’t be right, it _couldn’t_ be. Geralt wouldn’t let him be taken just for this fate. Unless Ramsay had lied to the witcher…and Jaskier was again frantically trying to figure out why Geralt would believe him over the bard.

Jaskier yelped as he was dragged by the back of his shirt, towards the X-post. **”Let me go! Stop…stop it!”** He lashed out and grabbed Ramsay’s leg, trying to trip him up. And for a moment he _did_ stumble, enough that he released Jaskier’s doublet. With the opportunity finally present, Jaskier put to task some of the training Geralt had tried to give him, his self-defense. He grabbed for the knife in his waistband, rejoicing that Ramsay hadn't found it. Jaskier jumped on the bastard, pressing the blade to his throat as he fished for the key. He drew blood, and though he normally did not care to fight, this was quite literally a matter of life and death.

Jaskier hit the back of Ramsay's head with a fist, and then rushed off him, before the bastard could recover. He frantically unlocked the door and threw it open, dropping his blade in the process. The bard had never run so fast in his life, making it a few paces down the hall before Ramsay caught up to him, screaming. The bastard slammed hard into his back, and they both hit the ground. 

**”Jeymes…Jeymes, you never learn, do you?”** Ramsay pulled back hard on his hair, and Jaskier shouted. Theon lurked at the end of the hall, watching them with a pathetic expression.

**”Help me! Please, hel-”** Ramsay grabbed Jaskier’s jaw, his fingers hooking over the bard’s bottom teeth. For a moment, Jaskier feared that Ramsay was going to break his jaw. 

**”No one is helping you here, Jeymes,”** that vile tone hissed in his ear. Ramsay gestured to Theon, who began to shuffle down the hall towards them. His brother finally stood, pulling him up by the grip in his hair. Jaskier whimpered as he was dragged by that grip, his feet kicking and one hand grabbing at Ramsay’s wrist. Every time he got a little bit of leverage, Ramsay yanked him that much harder to knock him off balance. Jaskier was thrown into the room again, rolling twice and landing on his side, facing the cross he was going to be bound to. 

**”Strip.”**

Jaskier ignored the command, though he really was just frozen in place. The terror that flooded his body prevented him from even trying to attempt another escape. But lying still and trying not to react no longer prevented Ramsay from having his fun. A rough kick caught him somewhere in the kidney, and Jaskier wheezed out a groan. Ramsay’s foot pulled his shoulder back, pinning him there.

**”Jeymes. I told you to strip. Or I’ll cut the clothes off you when you’re up there.”** The threat implied cutting his flesh in the process. Jaskier steeled his nerves and nodded, pulling himself up once Ramsay pulled his foot away. He shivered as he pulled off the rusty red doublet he’d worn. His half-brother barked an order to continue, making Jaskier jump nervously. His fingers were shaking as he unlaced his trousers, getting down to his smallclothes.

**”Jeymes…”** Ramsay growled threateningly. Jaskier looked at him with a petrified stare, his chest quivering with shaky breaths. **”Everything.”**

The gods couldn’t be real, Jaskier decided then. How could they let this happen to him, to bring him back here in some cruel twist of fate? Why had they brought him to Geralt at all, if Geralt was just going to sell him back to the Bastard of Bolton? Jaskier was crying again, at the idea of the witcher betraying him like this. It was not fair. Not fucking fair at all. 

Ramsay cracked his cheek with the back of his hand, and Jaskier whimpered, spitting out more blood. **”Don’t test my patience, Jeymes.”** The bard glanced at Theon as he pulled his chemise off, but the Greyjoy son couldn’t look him in the eye. Jaskier had no hope for any rescue, any backlash against Ramsay…nothing. He had nothing. He kept his eyes focused on the floor in front of him as he pushed his smallclothes down to his ankles, forcing his boots off with everything else. Fuck. He felt so vulnerable and cold, and convinced himself that the cold was the reason for his shivering now, as he tried to cover himself.

**”Reek.”** Jaskier looked up, terrified, but Ramsay was looking at Theon instead. Right, he was going to have to remember there was already a Reek now. **”Well? Get him bound, you useless thing.”** Theon silently nodded, shuffling towards Jaskier. The bard shook his head, lifting his hands to gently push on Theon’s shoulders. 

**”Please…c’mon, please don’t. You don’t have to. He can’t-”** Ramsay shoved Theon into him, making them both fall. Jaskier’s back hit the wooden X, and Theon slumped against him with a muted whimper. How long had Ramsay had a hold on Theon, to make him so weak and compliant? Had Jaskier’s running away made him refine how he tormented those he deemed beneath him? 

Ramsay was grabbing at his arm, and shouting something at Theon, but the blood was rushing into Jaskier’s ears and deafening him to the world. But he supposed Ramsay must have ordered him to bind Jaskier again, because Theon was pulling his opposite arm up, quickly fastening his wrist in place there. **”Ramsay…Ramsay please, I…I don’t want to be here. I didn’t want to come here.”** Tears dried on Jaskier’s cheeks, and he shouted, leaning his head back when the bastard and his dog yanked his legs apart, tying his ankles to the cross too. 

**”Hmm. You’re still fat,”** Ramsay sneered, pinching the skin at his waist hard. His half-brother continued to poke and prod all over his bare torso, commenting on how fat he still was, what a little piggy he’d been as a child and how dare he not have grown out of it by now. Jaskier stared at the ceiling, jaw tight and tears streaming down his face, trying to be anywhere but _there_. Surely Geralt would realize that this was wrong, and come for Jaskier. 

**”You should get some sleep, Jeymes. You look like shit.”** Ramsay slapped him, twice, laughing. Jaskier knew this would happen. He knew. He fucking knew it, and still he let his guard down. Ramsay had lied through his teeth and Jaskier was stupid enough to actually believe him. How could he have been so stupid? Jaskier told himself that it meant he shouldn’t believe Ramsay about what he’d said about Geralt, either. Geralt wouldn’t do that. He just…he wouldn’t. 

Ramsay turned to leave, shoving Theon out the door. Jaskier hung his head, gritting his teeth. A soft sob escaped him, and he froze as Ramsay’s footsteps halted, then grew louder again. **”Do you miss your dragon, Jeymes?”** A rough hand forced his head up, and Jaskier stared at his brother with all the contempt he could muster. Ramsay stared back, coldly, before slamming a fist into his stomach, making Jaskier vomit its contents onto the floor. He retched, making a mess of himself just because he couldn’t bend very far, bound up like this. 

**”Ah. Maybe you’ll lose some weight if I do that more often, then. But don’t worry. We’ll find something to keep you from missing your…what was his name? Gerold? We’ll find something to replace him. Soon enough.”** Ramsay patted his face just slightly too hard, leaving Jaskier to weep in the dark and cold. 

Jaskier could not sleep, even if he’d wanted to. And he absolutely did not wish to, not here. Not like this. Ramsay would just be waiting for him to sleep so he could find some new torment. Jaskier was going to go mad here, he already knew it. Some hours later, Theon returned with a tray of food. He set it on the table, shakily turning to look up at Jaskier.

**”Theon…”** Using his proper name made him drop his gaze, whimpering and shaking his head as he picked up a small piece of bread. He held it up for Jaskier, waiting. **”Theon. Theon Greyjoy. I…I remember you. I do. My father brought me to Winterfell a few times, and we played swords together. Do you remember? You, and me, and…and Robb.”** The name had finally come to him. Robb Stark. Where was _he_? Winterfell should have passed to him, once Eddard was executed. Or had the entire family been banished for his treachery? Theon wasn’t the one to ask.

**”I’m not Theon Greyjoy,”** he finally whispered, urging the bread towards Jaskier’s mouth again. The bard obliged, knowing Theon would be punished harshly if Jaskier didn’t eat what he was given. Likely he himself would be punished for eating. But he could take it. He was still himself, he still had hope. For…something. Theon was so far gone, and Jaskier could see now he was missing fingers and teeth. Scars riddled his cheeks, shoulders, and arms. Likely the rest of his body looked much the same, but was covered by clothing. 

**”You are,”** Jaskier spoke softly to him. He wished his arms were free, so he could give the poor man a hug, a comforting grip of the shoulder…anything. **”I know you. I remember you. C’mon. You must remember me. Theon. You have to…remember yourself, alright? That’s…that’s the one thing he can’t take from you.”** Theon looked like he was on the verge of crying, holding up a piece of meat to Jaskier next. The bard ate in silence for a while, giving Theon the time to compose himself.

**”Do you remember the song I used to sing? I wrote a song for this place. When we were younger. You always turned the lyrics dirty. Remember?”** Jaskier was desperate, trying to get anything out of Theon. After a long while, Theon finally looked up at him, some sort of recognition in his eyes, unless it was Jaskier just hoping for a miracle.

**”For the hope and dream of a summer neverending,”** Theon whispered, and Jaskier’s heart jumped to his throat.

**”You _do_ remember. You do! Theon…Theon please, please help me. There’s a man…a…he’s got white hair. Geralt. Geralt of Rivia. Remember that. If you can sneak a message…sneak…I…he didn’t know it would be this bad. Please, he must find me. He must…I love him.”** Theon looked as though he might say something more, but then clamped his jaw tightly shut, grabbing the empty tray and rushing out of the room. 

**”He remembers,”** Jaskier was sobbing to himself again, but in hope. If Theon could get a message out, if he dared to…maybe Geralt could come and save him. Eventually, Jaskier passed out again from exhaustion, though his sleep was filled with nightmares. Every time he got close to Geralt, the witcher shouted at him again, and shoved him away. His dreams would not be kind again to him for a while. But they never had been, until Geralt had begun to hold him as they slept. Jaskier wept repeatedly through his sleep, which was broken and terrible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah. It's gonna be rough for a bit, guys. It's Ramsay Bolton.


	3. Jaskier III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier's continued plight at Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look I am serious, this is...it was hard to write. This is your last warning. Nasty stuff ahead.
> 
> One reviewer said, "I thought you were gonna torture him nicely!" No. No I will not.

Jaskier could no longer remember how long the days were, nor how many had passed since he’d been brought to Winterfell. Ramsay never made a habit of keeping the same times, to come and torment him, and his throat had grown hoarse from all the screaming. His half-brother said that it was delightful, to have him sing once again. Just yesterday (or was it two days ago?) Ramsay had shattered his left foot, leaving it to dangle painfully in place. Jaskier could not stop crying and whimpering, sucking in air that pained him to breathe. 

Ramsay was with him once again, holding what looked like a cheese peeling device. **”What’s your name?”** he asked, lifting Jaskier’s chin. The bard’s face was bruised, and one eye was swollen shut. Blood caked him in various places across his body, and some of the cuts were oozing with illness. Jaskier had given up on hoping that he might get cut down from the post soon, or have his wounds healed effectively at all. Ramsay slapped him when he took too long to answer, and Jaskier spat in his face, a bloody grimace gracing his features at his brother’s outrage. 

The device scraped down his ribcage, and Jaskier howled, straining at the bindings. This was worse than anything Ramsay had done when they were younger. **”Your _name_ ,”** the bastard growled. He dangled the peeled strip of flesh in front of Jaskier’s face. 

He ignored it, closing his good eye and clenching his jaw. **”Jaskier,”** he answered, knowing what that would result in. **”Or Julian Alfred Pankratz, if you prefer.”** A sharp backhand hit his cheek, and Jaskier grunted. The peeler went to his thigh next, and Jaskier let out another long, tortured shriek. 

**”I keep trying to tell you, Jeymes. If you just behaved and played nice, this would be so much better on you. But you refuse. Tell me your fucking name.”** Ramsay stood, pressing the device to Jaskier’s cheek. That finally made the bard whimper, and something in him broke. He just kept thinking about Geralt, and how he couldn’t stand to have the witcher see him with his face irreparably marred. 

**”I…I’m Jeymes. Jeymes Bolton,”** he finally conceded, quietly. His good eye leaked perfect pearl teardrops, while the swollen one leaked in a horribly ugly way. Ramsay pulled the device away from his cheek, and Jaskier shuddered a whimper of relief.

 **”There. That wasn’t so hard, was it, Jeymes?”** He took the peeler to Jaskier’s arm anyway, and the bard’s scream reached notes he could never dream of in song. **”That was for making it so difficult for me. I wouldn’t have to do this if you just complied, Jeymes.”** Ramsay laid the newest strip of skin over Jaskier’s face, pressing to hold it in place and make sure he felt the blood and hurt. The bard sobbed, straining uselessly against the bindings that held him there.

 **”Well we’ve made some progress!”** Ramsay cheerily noted, pulling the strip off Jaskier’s face. **”We’ll try again tomorrow. See if you can’t be a little better. I don’t want to keep you on this cross forever, you know. But if you can’t behave…”** He sighed dramatically with a shrug. Jaskier nodded weakly. He didn’t want to be up here, either. Ramsay slapped his face, a little too hard, and dropped the bits of flesh on the floor, right in Jaskier’s line of sight.

**”Sleep well, Jeymes.”**

He did not.  


  


* * *

  


  
**”Jaskier,”** a voice grunted at him, through the dark. Jaskier was delirious and sure he was hallucinating for a moment. Geralt couldn’t be here…it was impossible. **”Come on. Getting you out of here.”** Rough hands unclasped the bindings at his wrists, and Jaskier fell into the man once he was freed. 

**”Geralt? Gods…oh…oh gods you’re really here aren’t you? This isn’t a dream.”** He clutched at the cloak, which smelled distinctly of horse, and began to sob while Geralt unbound his ankles. He was lifted, and beyond grateful for that, as he was sure he could barely walk. His foot was not healed, and he was so weak that he’d just slow the witcher down, he was sure. 

**”Please, please can we just go back to…to…I don’t care. Anywhere but here. Oxenfurt, Cintra, gods I would kill a man to be in Vizima right now,”** he sobbed into Geralt’s chest, his body finally relaxing. Geralt only grunted at him, and Jaskier had never been so happy to hear him do so. 

**”Where do you want to go?”** Geralt asked, whispering as though he didn’t want to be heard.

 **”I don’t care. I…I don’t. Not here. Please. Kaer Morhen. Anywhere. You wanted to…to go there. After all this.”** Jaskier snuggled further into Geralt’s chest, reaching for his medallion. Wait, where was it? His hand fumbled, sure that he just couldn’t find it. Maybe Geralt had to hide it, to infiltrate Winterfell. 

Jaskier was sure he was safe now, that Geralt had finally realized the error of his ways. Until he was dropped, hard, down in the crypts. He cried out as his injuries were roughly scraped and touched, bare nerves screaming at him. Jaskier looked up at the witcher, finally realizing that this wasn’t Geralt. It was some large man, with dirty and dark hair. No handsome features, no gentle sweetness in his eyes. The man’s eyes were the color of shit, nothing like Geralt’s beautiful golden ones.

 **”Attempting to leave me, Jeymes?”** Jaskier whimpered, knowing that Ramsay was going to hurt him even worse for this. He curled up into a ball, holding himself as he shivered. But at least he wouldn’t be on the cross anymore.  


  


* * *

  


  
Jaskier had been in the cage for at least four days. At least in there, he could tell the passage of time. Barely. And he could lay down to sleep, when Ramsay wasn’t tormenting him. The straw had stuck to his wounds and began to fuse in with his healing skin, making it even more painful when he had to rip them out. He hadn’t been given any clothes, not that he was expecting it. Every figure that passed his cell made Jaskier whimper and tuck deeper into the corner of his cell. He didn’t know which ones were going to torment him, or which just worked here.

 **”Go on, Reek,”** he heard Ramsay coaxing Theon, one day. The door to his cage creaked open, and Jaskier pressed back, looking frantically at the source. Ramsay snickered as he closed the door, once they were both inside. He sneered at the way Jaskier’s blue eyes darted anxiously between the two of them, and then cast downwards to the floor. **”Reek has a surprise for you. Don’t you Reek?”**

Theon nodded silently, holding up what looked like an old broomstick, cut off into a piece that was easy to hold. Jaskier didn’t understand. Was Theon going to beat him with it? The man looked sad, more so than usual, and began to shuffle towards Jaskier. **”You see,”** Ramsay continued, **”I took away Reek’s vile little cock. Otherwise I would’ve had him fuck you with it. You’re not over that Geralt of yours. What was it he called him, Reek?”** But Theon had no answer; only tears in his eyes. **”Ah that’s right. A _witcher_. You haven’t stopped your deviance, Jeymes. So I’m going to show you _why_ you should forget it. And him. If this doesn’t work…I’m not sure what we’ll have to do with you.”**

Realization slowly creeped into Jaskier’s expression as Theon began his approach. **”No…please…please don’t do this. Stop! Y-you’re…you’re still Theon, you can-”** Ramsay rushed to grab him by the throat and force him down. Jaskier cried out, flailing helplessly against the knee that pinned his shoulders to the floor. 

**”I thought you liked it this way, you fucking pillow biter,”** Ramsay hissed. **”He told me that you had kissed him.”** That made Jaskier’s heart stop temporarily. How could Ramsay have known that? Unless Geralt really _had_ told him, after all. Had Geralt just been waiting to get rid of him? Appeasing him so he was compliant in all this charade? Jaskier began to cry again, long before Ramsay grabbed one of his cheeks to spread it. 

**”He will never come for you, Jeymes. He sold you to me, and he was glad to be rid of you. The freak would have killed you himself, once he’d grown tired of you. Hmmm he told me once…ah yes. If life could give him one blessing? Sound familiar?”** Jaskier wailed and thrashed. Ramsay had to be lying. He _had_ to be. But how could he know about the mountain? What Geralt had said, once he’d saved the dragon and his mate? After another moment of fighting, Jaskier’s body simply gave up. 

He could feel Theon’s shaky hand on the other side of his ass, and felt the wood beginning to poke at him. **”NO!”** Jaskier grit his teeth as the wood was pushed into him, tearing him open. **”No…nononono please…please don’t…I…I won’t…I’ll be good…I’ll be so good,”** he promised through his tears. He heard Ramsay slap Theon, and then felt the wood sliding in and out of him, painfully. Jaskier whimpered, and weakly pushed the floor. He had never been so flaccid in his life, and wished that he could ignore Ramsay’s words. But there was no way he could have known, unless Geralt really had secretly been in contact with him this whole time.

Jaskier was a sobbing wreck of a mess, by the time Ramsay barked at Theon to pull the wood from him. He didn’t even move, though his ass burned and the rest of his body was cold, when Ramsay finally lifted the weight from his back. Jaskier just laid there pathetically, unable to respond or move or do anything other than wallow in the pity of having been abandoned to this fate by the one man he had opened himself to. Of anyone, it would have been Geralt who understood. Who protected him. He had only just told the witcher he loved him, and heard the same back. Why would Geralt tell him that if he was just going to turn around and…and do _this_?

 **”What’s your name?”** came Ramsay’s cold voice. It made Jaskier whimper and prepare himself for a strike that never came.

 **”Jeymes,”** he finally managed to mutter, his face still plastered to the floor. Apparently that had satisfied Ramsay enough, as he heard the cage shut again. Jaskier was alone, and he should have fucking known that it was bound to end like this. He was going to die in here. Tortured, broken, and unloved. Ramsay had seen it from the beginning, so why did he think that he could have ever been different? 

**”W-when…a humble…b-bard,”** he tried to sing to himself, instead breaking down into sobs that shook his whole body. Jaskier curled up into himself and remained there, not even noticing the small pool of blood that was gathering beneath his hip.  


  


* * *

  


  
**”Jaskier,”** a deep voice grunted. He ignored it, having been tricked no fewer than three times into believing that Geralt had finally come for him. Even after Ramsay made Theon rape him the first time, he had let himself believe that Ramsay might be lying. But the bastard continued to know things he shouldn’t have, and it made Jaskier question everything he thought he had known about the witcher. Where did the lies finally stop, he wondered? 

**” _Jaskier_ ,”** the voice insisted again. Jaskier didn’t even turn to look at the cage door, instead just sitting there, facing the wall. Naked, as Ramsay had been keeping him. 

**”Jaskier is dead,”** he finally uttered, hoping this fake would leave him in peace. Eventually he did, and Jaskier could pretend that he was back in Oxenfurt, furiously taking notes of musical theory. Somehow, those memories kept him the sanest of all. Nothing else, in the years he’d spent with Geralt and traveled that gods-forsaken continent, held comfort to him now. 

**”So you’ve learned your place at last,”** came Ramsay’s icy venom. Jaskier whimpered, holding himself tighter. He couldn’t take more. No more. **”You see why I could never give you the Dreadfort? Look at how weak you are. You’re a disgrace to Bolton. Father would be ashamed to see you now.”**

Still he did not answer. The grey rock before him held every answer he needed in this life, now. 

Ramsay hit the bars suddenly and roughly, but Jaskier didn’t so much as flinch at the noise. He just sat there, feeling as pathetic as Ramsay claimed him to be. The Bastard snorted, hitting the bars one more time. **”You stay put, Jeymes. Reek has another treat for you.”** Jaskier knew it was no treat, but he couldn’t voice an opinion otherwise. Not in this hell.

He was abandoned, and he was weak, and no one was coming to save him. He couldn’t even save himself, if he tried. All he could do was stare at grey and hope that Ramsay bashed his head in sooner or later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's more to Jaskier's story, but it's coming in a new part to the overall series.

**Author's Note:**

> Shit's gonna get dark y'all. For frame of reference, find below the basic idea of Jaskier's face through most of these chapters.


End file.
